A Toxic Event
by ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: After breaking up, Mr. Gold sees Belle out at the Rabbit Hole one night. Cursed and/or AU Rumbelle in Storybrooke
1. Sometime Around Midnight

**A/N: After breaking up, Mr. Gold sees Belle out at the Rabbit Hole one night.**

**Based on the song "Sometime Around Midnight" by the Airborne Toxic Event.**

* * *

It's around midnight on a hot July Friday night in Storybrooke, Maine, and Gold is halfway to drunk.

His corner booth at the Rabbit Hole affords him a view of the seedy establishment without having to actually involve himself with the rabble that tends to congregate there. Sitting with his back to the wall, he has a clear view of the exits through the smoky haze of the bar. It is blessedly empty for this time of a night. Leroy is slumped over the bar, having clearly had a few too many already. Mr. Clark is shooting pool with Doctor Whale while Ruby watches them appreciatively. A few other patrons he doesn't know are congregated here and there, talking or drinking, but all ignoring him.

That is just fine by Gold. He doesn't require company.

In fact he rarely patronizes Storybrooke's one and only bar. Usually he stops in for the rent and leaves as quickly as possible.

But tonight, the prospect of going home to his big empty house and drinking his expensive single malt scotch in solitude seemed like the closest thing to torture he could imagine. So after collecting the rent from the easily intimidated bartender, he'd moved over to the corner booth, ordered a glass of sub standard, overpriced whiskey, and said to keep them coming.

Throwing back the last of the drink in front of him, and enjoying the way the swill burns down the back of his throat, he signals the bartender for another. This was penance he supposed. He deserved every bit of misery heaped on him, cheap whiskey least of all.

So why was Mr. Gold, successful businessman, richest man in town, getting pissed by himself in some shit bar in the middle of the night? There could only be one reason for that.

_Belle_

They'd broken up three months ago. He'd been remarkably able to hold himself together until tonight. That miracle aided by the fact that he'd barely seen her since the blow up fight that had ended their relationship. She'd packed her bags, moved out of his house, and he'd seen neither hide nor hair of her since.

Until today.

He usually avoided Granny's, knowing it was a favorite spot of hers. But he had to stop by for rent on his lunch break, and she just had to be eating there at the time. She'd looked up from her hamburger and caught his eye, and he'd nearly dropped dead on the spot. How had he forgotten how intensely beautiful those crystal blue eyes were? How had he managed to sleep at night without curling around her soft, petite body? How did he bloody well put one foot in front of the other without that remarkable woman in his life?

So he did the only thing a coward like him could do. He'd turned around and walked right out of the diner. Granny would hardly be upset if he waited a day to collect.

He'd hobbled back across the street to the sanctuary of his shop, his heart in shreds. He's ashamed to admit he cried like a little bitch and realized again for the 47th time what a mistake letting her go had been. Realized that he still loved her. That he'd always love her.

He'd fucked up beyond repair. Belle would never forgive him. She was gone from his life for good, and he had to get used to being alone again. But just for tonight, he didn't want to be alone.

The bartender approaches and drops another glass of whiskey in front of him, and retreats without a word. Gold must be getting drunk because the whiskey doesn't burn quite as much anymore, and the lights over the bar have gone kind of hazy.

He lets out an audible groan when he sees Keith Nottingham approaching a make shift stage on the far end of the bar. The walking libido in a leather jacket sits at a stool and starts strumming some god-awful song about lost love. And Gold is stuck in a shit bar, drinking shit whiskey, listening to shit guy sing a shit song and his whole life has devolved into one massive pile of shit.

Then the unthinkable happens, because really it's just been that kind of day, and if you're going to run into your young and beautiful ex girlfriend once in a day, you might as well run into her again later when you've had more than your share of alcohol and you've been pining away over her for the last twelve hours.

Belle wanders in to the bar, wearing a sweet little white sundress that perfectly displays her long pale legs – legs that only a few months ago would have been wrapped around his waist as her perfect pink mouth moaned his name. But those days are gone, and he'll never get them back.

His eyes are riveted to her as she makes her way across the bar to the pool table. Ruby gives her a hug, Dr. Whale says something and then they're all laughing together and isn't he pathetic sitting in the corner alone watching this. Ruby hands her a gin and tonic – her drink of choice, he remembers. She's flipping her long chestnut curls and smiling around the straw in her drink. He'd give anything to be that straw.

She knows that he's watching her. She spotted him the moment she entered the bar. She keeps glancing back over her shoulder at him, and he knows he should look away. He knows he should get up right now and head home. But if he goes home he'll be surrounded by her memory. The kitchen where he made her breakfast in bed. The sofa where she fell asleep in his arms while watching Casablanca. The bedroom where so many of his favorite memories took place. Somehow seeing her now, in the present, casually aloof and uncaring is easier than going home to the memory of her love.

So he stays, hand clutching at the cracked vinyl of the seat cushion beneath him, taking short breaths through his nose, and staring at the one that got away.

By the time Belle acknowledges his presence, Nottingham has moved on to another song, this one no less melancholy than the first. She walks by on the pretense of getting another drink from the bar. But he knows her too well, and she's never been a good liar.

She stops by his booth and gives him a smile, causing the whole world to spin on its axis.

"Hey, Aiden. How are you?"

She's too close. He can smell the lilac scent of her perfume and it calls to mind so many images. Images of her lying naked in his arms, spent and satisfied and oh so happy.

"I'm fine, Belle." He says tightly.

"I haven't seen you in a while. What have you been up to?"

Gold puts on his patented condescending smirk. "As I recall, you didn't much care what I got up to. I could 'limp out into traffic' if I remember correctly."

Belle stares at him shocked as if he's slapped her. And he shouldn't have said anything. He should have been polite, but he's an asshole and it always comes to the surface.

"Don't act like I wanted any of this, Aiden." She replies tightly. "Things could have been very different."

With that she walks back to the bar, ordering another drink and heads back to the pool table.

Gold wants to slam his head against the table. He wants to chase after her and tell her he's an idiot, that he loves her, that if she just gives him one more chance he'll be the man she always thought he could be. The man she believed he was for a time. He'll be better.

But he can't seem to pull himself up from the booth, to put one foot in front of the other and make his way to her. She's right. He has no one to blame for this but himself. And if he were in her shoes, he'd never forgive him.

Belle is very forgiving though.

He signals the bartender for another refill. One more cup of liquid courage and he'll do it. He'll apologize; she'll take him back. She always does.

He's halfway through his next whiskey, which really is getting better by the glass, when the world seems to shatter.

The group at the pool table that he's been watching so closely is stirring to leave. Whale puts his arm around Ruby and steers her out of the bar. Mr. Clark goes to rouse Leroy from the bar. Finally Nottingham comes down off the stage after a truly dismal set and heads straight for Belle.

She smiles at him as he snakes an arm around her waist, and Gold is overcome with the desire to break every bone in his body. Nottingham leans in and kisses her cheek, and Belle lets him do it. Gold feels a bit nauseous and he's sure it's not the fact that he's probably consumed 2 straight bottles of whiskey tonight.

Next thing Gold knows, Nottingham is leading Belle out of the bar, her tiny hand wrapped in his large meaty one. Gold wants to scream but no sound will come from his throat. Belle is keenly aware of his eyes on her. She looks right at him, with a smile that can't quite hide the sadness in her eyes. And then she's gone with the sleaziest guy in town's hands on her.

Gold's blood is boiling. He's never been so angry in his life, and that's saying something. Belle isn't supposed to be with some small town gigolo who spends his nights assailing the ears of patrons of a shitty small town bar. She's too good for Nottingham.

She was too good for Gold. She's too good for this whole damn town. It breaks Gold's heart that she feels stuck here, working at that tiny library, taking care of her incompetent father and dating lowlife scum like Nottingham. Because Belle is the most brilliant, beautiful, amazing person he's ever known. And she deserves so much better than any of this.

It's that thought that finally propels him from the booth. He drops a wad of cash down on the bar on his way out.

Once he's out on the main street of Storybrooke, the alcohol starts to catch up with him. Combined with his limp, he's probably a stumbling mess, but he flat doesn't care about appearances for once in his life. There's hardly anyone out at this time of night anyway.

There's only one thought in Gold's mind. He just has to see her. If he sees her, he can tell her the truth. He can break through to her. He'll take her far away from Storybrooke and they'll escape this dismal town together.

He somehow makes his way to the library, and stops at the stairs that lead up to her apartment. He has memories here too. Their first kiss was in her kitchen. After weeks of flirting, she'd invited him over for dinner. She'd been so nervous she burnt the lasagna. She'd looked so adorable, he had to kiss her.

Gold starts up the stairs to her apartment with mounting trepidation. The lights are on, and he can sense movement behind the closed curtains.

And then he hears a laugh. The kind of loud, full body laugh that he hasn't heard from Belle in months. The kind of laugh she used to have when he'd say something sinful, and she'd smack him on the arm and feel bad for laughing at someone else's expense. He's missed that laugh.

And so he turns and heads back down the stairs. Because if Belle is laughing like that, then she's happy, and who is he to determine her happiness.

* * *

Inside the apartment, Belle flips off the Friends rerun that was playing on her TV, and starts to change into her pajamas. Really he should be here by now. She thought flaunting Nottingham in his face would get him to act. She knows how much he hates the man.

She'd bid Keith goodnight once they were outside the bar. She's not ready to go home with someone. She might never be ready.

Belle thinks she hears something, like the scuff of a cane on stairs, and runs to her front door, throwing it open hoping to see him.

But there's no one there. He hasn't come. He really is over her.

If only she could get over him. But her silly muddled mind can still smell his cologne on the air.


	2. Half of Something Else

**A/N: Belle runs into a drunk Gold on the street later that night.**

**Chapter title taken from the song "Half of Something Else" by the Airborne Toxic Event**

* * *

Gold has barely made it half a block before he plops down on the sidewalk outside the Dark Star Pharmacy. His ankle is aching and his head is spinning from the whiskey. The alcohol has firmly caught up with him, and he doesn't think he's been this drunk since he was a teenager.

There's no way he's walking home tonight, and if he tried to drive he'd probably kill himself.

Despite the bent of his evening, he doesn't have a death wish, so he takes a deep breath of muggy night air and sorts through his options.

He could trudge a little further up the street to his shop and spend the night on the twin bed in his back room. It's not exactly an appealing option. He's spent the night on that bed before, typically when he was working late and didn't feel the need to drag himself home. It's not like anyone is ever waiting for him there.

But there are other memories in that back room that will haunt him and keep him from sleep. Like the afternoon Belle surprised him at his shop wearing nothing but a trench coat. He'd hauled her into the back room faster than a man with a limp had any right to do. They'd made love on that stupid twin bed until well after dark. Then they'd lain there talking and dozing off in equal measure until dawn.

He'd asked her to move in with him the next morning, and she'd said yes. He'd often given thought to asking her another important question. In fact, he still had the ring stashed away in the back room. He'd been unwilling to part with it, unwilling to even pull it out of its hiding place and face it.

The idea of going to sleep at the shop is getting less appealing by the second.

His other option is to lie here in the gutter until someone calls the sheriff's department on him. Maybe then Graham would drag him down to the station and he could spend the night curled up next to Leroy in the drunk tank.

It speaks to the addled state of his mind that this doesn't seem like a half bad option.

His third option is only a fantasy. He gets up out of the gutter, charges up to Belle's apartment, whacks Nottingham in the face a few times with his cane, then pulls Belle into the world's most passionate kiss until she's breathless and begging for him, telling him she was a fool to ever think she could live without him and demanding he take her at once against her kitchen table, Nottingham's unconscious form on the floor be damned.

Yeah, that's not a real option.

Gold sighs and rubs at his eyes. He really is quite tired. When he'd slumped to the ground his cane had skittered away out of reach and it suddenly feels like a Herculean task to retrieve it. Maybe if he just slept it off here on the street he could be up and out of sight before dawn.

He's eyeing the hard concrete around him and speculating the most comfortable way to position himself when he hears his name.

"Aiden? What are you doing?"

And there's only one person in town that uses his given name, only one person in town whose very voice can turn his bones to jelly. The first time he heard that lilting Aussie accent caressing the syllables of his name, he'd thought it never sounded so right before. When Belle said his name, he felt like Aiden. Not Mr. Gold, the dealmaker everyone in town is so wary of, but just the bloke from Glasgow who likes tinkering with antiques and working with his hands.

He glances up at Belle and she's a vision in the moonlight, the streetlight behind her casting a shimmering halo around her auburn curls. No one has ever looked lovelier than Belle does in this moment, with her hair tumbling down about her shoulders and her pale blue cardigan pulled tight around her chest. He can see a peek of her pajama shorts from under her sweater. They're the white ones with the pattern of tiny pink roses that he used to like so much.

And then, because this is the night that just keeps getting worse, Gold ruins the image by slouching over and retching in the street.

* * *

Belle stood in her doorway for a long moment breathing in the phantom scent of Aiden's cologne. At first she'd thought it was her imagination, but the scent is mixed with the stale smell of cigarettes, the tang of whiskey and something else that is quintessentially Rabbit Hole.

Of course, that could just be her, and Belle takes a tentative sniff of herself just to make sure.

Because maybe Aiden did come. Maybe he snuck his way up her stairs only to lose his nerve, or change his mind. Belle couldn't blame him if that's the case. She'd been the one to end things after all. She'd been rather forceful when she moved out. It's not out of the realm of possibility that he thinks she doesn't want him anymore.

But oh how she does.

It seems a little pathetic, running out into the street in your pajamas in the dead of night because your ex boyfriend might have possibly stopped by and you only realize this because your olfactory sense is somehow keenly aware of his scent.

Belle deliberates for a half second before grabbing her cardigan off the back of the sofa and stuffing her feet into the rain boots she keeps by the front door.

It can't hurt anything to just run down the stairs and take a glance down the street. At least that's what she tells herself. If Aiden is down there, maybe they'll finally have a chance to talk. And if he's not, well it's that dead time of night that comes between the hours of very late and very early and there will be no one on the street to witness her shame.

She turns the corner from her apartment and immediately spots a dark shape slumped on the sidewalk half a block away.

Approaching slowly she sees that it is in fact Aiden. She tamps down the feeling of triumph that ricochets through her when she notices what a mess he looks.

Her carefully put together boyfriend would never have allowed himself to be seen in his current state, sprawled out against the concrete, gold tipped cane discarded a few feet from him. His tie is crooked and his hair looks as though he's run his fingers through it repeatedly. He's also currently glancing around at the ground around him like a lost puppy.

"Aiden? What are you doing?"

He looks up at her and Belle is immediately keenly aware of how ridiculous she must look in her rain boots and pajamas. She pulls the cardigan more protectively around her. But Aiden just smiles like she's the most wonderful thing he's seen all evening.

He is then promptly sick.

Belle rushes forward, instantly glad of her rain boots as she edges around the puddle of sick to rub Aiden's back.

"Are you alright? Aiden, what are you doing here?"

Aiden wipes his mouth against the arm of his suit jacket, and he'll probably regret that later, before glancing up at her with watery eyes.

"Came to see you," he slurs at her. "I was worried."

"Worried?" Belle asks, confused. "Why were you worried about me? And what are you doing out here on the street?"

Aiden just stares at her for a moment, as thought it's taking him a moment to process the words coming out of her mouth.

"You left with that fucker Nottingham!" He finally says, vehemently. "Everyone knows that son of a bitch is a letch. I couldnae leave you alone with him."

His brogue is getting so strong that he's nigh incomprehensible and it takes Belle a second to understand what he's said. She's never actually seen Aiden drunk before. He's always been a study in moderation. Even when he did knock back a few glasses of scotch, they'd hardly had an effect on him. How much must he have imbibed tonight?

"Wait, are you saying you were jealous?"

Aiden looks affronted at that.

"Absolutely bloody not! I was just preserving your…virtue!"

Belle rolls her eyes. "Well you needn't have bothered."

Aiden starts casting an eye around as though looking for the man in question.

"Where is he then? Done already? Bastard doesn't have much stamina."

Belle snatches her hand away from his back and has to restrain herself from slapping him. Does he honestly think she'd sink low enough to go home with Keith? But then, isn't that exactly what she'd wanted him to think? She'd dangled Keith in front of him tonight hoping to get a reaction. But this wasn't exactly the reaction she'd had in mind.

Sighing, she retrieves his cane and wraps one of his hands around the gold handle before taking his other hand in hers. She tries not to notice how good his big warm hand feels around hers.

"What are you doing?" He asks confusedly.

"Well I can't very well leave you out in the street all night can I?"

He's still staring at her blankly so she adds, "You're a drunk fucking mess, Aiden. Now do you want to come up and sleep it off on my couch or do you want me to leave you here on the curb for garbage collection?"

With a grunt of assent, Aiden braces himself against the cane and allows her to tug him up into standing. He's unsteady on his feet and stumbles into her a bit before catching himself. She's lucky he's so slight. A larger man would have sent them both falling back into the gutter.

Wrapping his free arm around her shoulders, Aiden wrinkles his brow.

"Did you just compare me to garbage?"

Belle just shrugs as they start back toward her apartment.

"Well that's rich for someone who went home with Keith Fucking Nottingham."

Belle pinches him hard in the side for that one.

"Ouch! What the fucking hell, Belle?"

Belle lets out a sound that's somewhere between a groan and a scream.

"Why do you always have to be such an insufferable arse?'

Aiden backs away from her a step and lets loose an elaborate hand flourish, that in his present state almost knocks him on his ass.

"It's just who I am, dearie!"

Belle shakes her head sadly. "It's not though. You can put on the mask, but I know the real you. I've seen the man underneath all the bullshit, and frankly I miss him."

Aiden seems to sober some at that confession, his brown eyes huge in his thin face.

"You were the only one who ever tried." He shakes his head, leaning heavily on his cane and suddenly seeming decades older. "I never deserved you."

"Oh Aiden, love isn't about what you deserve." Belle reaches out to clasp his free hand in hers. "Love is about seeing the bad parts in someone, and loving them anyway. It's about finding the person who makes you want to be the best version of yourself. I'm sorry I couldn't be that person for you."

Aiden looks stricken at her words.

"You do make me want to be the best version of myself. I just was never sure who that was anymore."

Belle can feel the prick of unshed tears behind her eyes, and turns away before he can see them fall.

"Come on. Let's get you up to bed." She says, tugging at his hand.

They somehow manage to stumble up the stairs to the Library apartment together. Aiden's drunkenness has faded into a general malaise, and he sits on the couch while Belle finds him some pillows and blankets to make up a bed.

When she comes back to the living room, he's removed his rumpled suit jacket and discarded it on the floor. He's worrying over the buttons of his shirt, but his fingers keep slipping away before he can get the button through the hole.

"Here, let me," she says, kneeling on the ground before him and undoing the row of buttons down his chest. It's so familiar it makes her heart ache. She's so close the scent of his cologne seems to envelop her. Granted it's tempered by the stench of whiskey that's coming off of him in waves. But that's not quite enough to completely mask the warm spicy scent that is so quintessentially Aiden Gold.

She breathes in shakily as her fingers fumble over the final buttons. Then she removes his cufflinks and he's pushing the shirt off to join his jacket on the floor.

He's lost weight, even more wiry than she remembers. He's never been good about remembering mundane things like eating regular meals. Without her there to remind him, he probably doesn't eat nearly enough.

Before she can stop herself, Belle runs a hand down his smooth chest, stopping at his belt buckle. Gold is barely breathing beneath her hand, and she can feel his eyes on her.

She's just getting him ready for bed, she tells herself, as she pulls the expensive leather strap from the buckle and eases his belt off. She refuses to look at him as she undoes the button and flies on his trousers.

Aiden lets out a long low breath, "Keith wasn't enough for one night?"

And just like that he's ruined the moment. Belle lets her hands drop to her lap. He's distracting her on purpose, she knows. He's nervous and doesn't know what to say, so he says the wrong thing. It's always been his modus operandi. It's part of the reason he's her ex boyfriend and not her current boyfriend. But Belle can't help but feel cheap at his words.

"I'm not gonna fuck you, Aiden." She says calmly.

"For one thing you just puked. For another, I'm not in the habit of jumping men when they're blackout drunk and probably won't remember any of this in the morning, speaking of which, I hardly think you're in any condition to participate." She finally looks him in the eye, letting him see her unshed tears. "And finally, I didn't go home with Keith. I left him outside the bar, not that it's any of your business what I do and with whom."

Aiden couldn't have looked more stunned if she'd slapped him.

"I'm sorry."

Belle nods at his apology, and stands up.

"I forgive you. You're not quite yourself. I'm going to get you some water."

She heads into the kitchen and finally lets the tears fall.

Why is this so hard? She still loves him. She never stopped loving him. She only left because she was so tired of always being the strong one in the relationship. It was a struggle every day with him, and she couldn't stand the persona he put on in his dealings with the rest of the town, the way he treated them. With her he was sweet, kind, gentle. But it was more than just that. She loved the wicked parts of him too. She loved his sense of humor, his intelligence.

He was just so afraid of letting someone love him. At every turn he expected her to leave, so she finally had. He'd told her once that everyone he'd ever loved had left him. And here she had continued the trend. Part of her had hoped he would fight for her.

Wiping at the tears furiously, she retrieves a glass and fills it with water as well as a bottle of aspirin for the hangover he's sure to have in the morning.

When Belle returns to the living room, Aiden has managed to shed his trousers and is curled up on the couch in his boxers. Placing the water and aspirin on the side table, she pulls one of the blankets up over him.

He mumbles something under his breath before grabbing her hand.

"I miss you too," he slurs sleepily.

They still have a lot to talk about, but for now she enjoys knowing that he's safely ensconced in her apartment. Belle runs a hand through his long graying brown hair with a smile.

She hasn't felt whole in a while. But just having him here makes her feel a little less like half of something else.


	3. Cause It's True Love

**A/N: Gold wakes up with a massive hangover and a sinking feeling of guilt.**

**Chapter title taken from the song "True Love" by the Airborne Toxic Event. I thought it was fitting.**

* * *

Gold wakes up with a splitting headache.

To be fair, he woke up to a piercing shaft of golden sunlight that cut through the curtains and right across his face which caused him to jolt awake, immediately be overcome with unbearable nausea, just barely make it to the kitchen sink before emptying the contents of his stomach and then come to enough to realize that he had a splitting headache.

Now, he's sitting on his ex girlfriend's sofa in nothing but his boxers and trying to piece together what exactly he did last night. He has a sinking feeling that no matter what happened, Belle will probably never want to see him again. He has the vague sense of shame that tends to accompany blackout drunkenness, and he has no doubt it's well earned.

He remembers seeing her leave the Rabbit Hole with Nottingham, remembers following them from the bar and up to Belle's apartment. He thought he'd made the decision to leave well enough alone, and yet here he is.

Reaching for his trousers, unceremoniously rumpled on the floor, Gold digs out his cell phone from his pocket and checks the time. It's not even 7 a.m. and a Saturday to boot. Belle was never much of an early riser, so he has no doubt she's still sound asleep. He should slip out before she wakes, before he can heap more embarrassment on himself.

Picking his shirt up from the ground and shrugging the sleeves on to his aching, dehydrated muscles, Gold is overcome with a sudden flash of memory from the previous night.

He clearly remembers sitting here on this couch as Belle unbuttoned and removed his shirt. He can still feel the prickle of her fingertips against his bare chest.

Gold shakes his head at the memory and is immediately sorry for it as light bursts behind his eyes and his brain seems to ricochet around inside the cavern of his skull. His stomach roils with another bout of nausea and he rushes for the bathroom this time, choking down the bile that burns the back of his throat.

He rises from the toilet a moment later gasping and sputtering, and there's no way he's ever having a drink at the Rabbit Hole for the rest of his natural life. He's in such a foul mood he briefly considers upping the establishment's monthly rent in exchange for the hangover, though he knows there's no one to blame for his current situation but himself.

Well himself and Nottingham.

That's one thing he remembers clearly from the night before. Belle didn't go home with Nottingham. Thank God for small mercies. She'd told him so specifically, after expressing that she also would not be spending the night with him.

Just as well. If this morning is any indication, he wouldn't have been good for much last night.

Gold eyes her shower longingly. He can smell the rank scent of whiskey and cigarettes and bile pouring off him. But he shouldn't stay longer than necessary. And stripping naked in Belle's apartment is just asking for trouble.

So he makes his way back to the front room as quietly as possible and finishes getting dressed in yesterday's clothes. His heart seizes in his chest when he sees the glass of water and bottle of aspirin left innocuously on the side table. His Belle, always trying to save him from himself.

Popping a couple of aspirin in his mouth and downing the glass of water, Gold retrieves his cane and heads out the front door as quietly as possible. He needs to open the shop soon and move on with his day. He knows something like this can't happen again.

* * *

Gold winces at the sound of his shop door slamming open. Despite a short nap, a long shower and an entire pot of coffee, he's still nursing his worst hangover in decades. Standing slowly, he makes his way to the front of the shop. But before he can reach the curtain that separates his private sanctuary from the rest of the shop he is faced with a fuming Belle.

"Where the hell do you get off?"

"Excuse me?" he asks, wincing again at the pitch of her voice. He'd been fairly certain she'd invited him up to sleep on her sofa last night. As much as he's sure he was an imposition, he didn't think she was that angry with him.

"You think you can follow me home, pass out in front of my apartment, essentially call me a slut multiple times in an evening, make me take care of your drunken ass, and then just leave in the morning without so much as a goodbye?"

Belle's long curls fly about her shoulders as she jabs his chest with her pointer finger, her blue eyes alight with righteous anger. She's so beautiful he could cry. He can never do right by this woman. Even when he tries to leave her alone, to let her get on without him, he can't seem to do the right thing.

"I thought I'd been enough of an imposition," he explains. "I was trying to get out of your hair."

Belle lets out a frustrated groan, and he vaguely recalls her making the same sound last night.

"I'll never have you out of my hair, Gold. You could at least be polite!"

Gold rubs at his temples trying to stem the headache there. "I'm sorry, Belle. I thought I'd been enough trouble for an evening. I thought I'd spare you any further discomfort at being in my presence."

Belle just stares at him, mouth agape.

"Well that's for me to decide isn't it?"

"I suppose." Belle never did like him making decisions for her.

She nods, pacing away across the back room, trailing a finger across the scattered works in progress that litter his desk.

"Did you mean what you said last night?" she asks suddenly. And he's not entirely sure what she's referring to. Whatever it is he probably did mean it. Alcohol is nature's truth serum.

"I recall saying several things, to which declaration are you referring?"

Belle crosses her arms against her chest protectively. She suddenly looks so young and small, and Gold's fierce urge to protect her has never been stronger, even from himself.

"You said that you missed me," she answers in a small voice.

And if that's not the understatement of the fucking century.

"Yes," he manages to rasp out. "I do. Miss you."

Belle finally looks up at him, eyes huge in her pale face.

"I miss you, too. All of you. Not just the good parts."

"Why, Belle?" he implores her. "Why do you put up with me? I'm toxic, nothing good can ever come from me."

"Because I love you, you moron! I never stopped loving you!"

And he'll never be sure who made the next move because suddenly his lips are pressed against hers, and Belle is reaching up on her tiptoes and twining her fingers in his hair, gripping on to him like he's the only thing keeping her afloat.

She gasps against his mouth, and Gold takes the opportunity to plunder her mouth with his tongue. She tastes like mint tea and the strawberry flavor of her lip-gloss. And it's exotic and familiar all at once, like coming home from a long trip and finding that things aren't quite the same as they used to be. They're even better because you've been gone so long and the idea built up in your head pales in comparison to the real thing.

His hands grip her waist tightly as she arches into him, pressing her hips firmly against his. And if they stay in this position, he won't be able to hide her effect on him for much longer.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to pull himself away from her lips.

"My darling Belle," he gasps, overcome with the sheer amount of love in his heart that refuses to be contained. "I love you too. So, so much, my dear. But are you absolutely certain you want this?"

"I've been lost without you, Aiden. What we have, it's True Love. And when you find something that precious, you have to fight for it, right?"

"Yeah," Gold agrees, before hauling her back against him and kissing her once more.

And this kiss is anything but gentle. It's raw and demanding and desperate. It's the clash of lips and tongue and teeth. They manage a little finesse after a moment, and then Gold is maneuvering them back across the room toward that blasted twin bed. Had he been a wise man and come here last night to sleep off his drunkenness, this reconciliation might have never happened. He's never been more grateful for a stupid decision.

Belle pushes him back until the mattress hits the back of his knees and he sits hard. She's straddling him a second later, pulling at the knot in his tie in between kisses, and grinding her hips against his. He's still sluggish from his hangover, and all he can do is rub his palms up and down her sides, mesmerized as she continues to undress him.

Belle's managed to get his tie and waistcoat off, and undo half his shirt buttons before he realizes he should be a more active participant. Tugging at the hem of her sundress, Belle pulls back from him just long enough to pull the offending fabric over her head, the sight of Belle in nothing but lacy pink knickers and matching bra almost enough to have him coming in his pants like a schoolboy.

The feel of her warm skin pressed against his is slowly causing Gold lose his mind, and he's going to have to pace himself if he wants to last long enough to please Belle.

She's up a moment later, standing between his thighs as she tugs at his belt, her fingers brushing against the hard length of him. This isn't going to last long at all.

Capturing Belle's wrists in his hands, he stops her from removing his belt. She looks up at him with confusion, but there's something else there as well – a frantic kind of fear.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I want you," she replies, reaching forward to try to kiss his neck. His already hard cock is positively straining at her words. Still, he pulls back and meets her eye again.

There are tears in her eyes, and Gold is instantly afraid he's done some irreparable harm. He seems incapable of ever doing the right thing where Belle is concerned.

"I'm afraid." She says plainly. Gold's heart seizes to see those blue eyes full of tears, her bottom lip trembling.

"Of what?"

Sniffing, Belle lets her hands fall to her sides. "I'm afraid if I give you a moment to think about this, you'll pull back again. You'll try to end things for my own good or something equally ridiculous."

Gold shakes his head confused.

"Sweetheart, I'm not one to lay blame, but you're the one who left me, remember?"

Belle sighs and moves to sit next to him on the bed.

"I didn't want to leave, Aiden. I left because you pushed me away so hard and so often, that I thought it was the only way to get through to you." She shrugs her shoulders a little at that. "I guess it wasn't my best idea."

"I'm sorry, Belle. I'm a difficult man to love."

Belle shakes her head. "No. Loving you was always the easy part. Making you believe it is the hard part."

Cupping her cheek, Gold presses his forehead against hers, breathing in the lightly floral scent of her. "I can't promise that'll get any easier, love. But I will try. For you I'd do anything."

And then he's kissing her again, no less passionate this time, but the frantic edge is gone. They manage to finally free him of his trousers, and he rolls her underneath him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat.

Belle moans and shunts her hips up against his. There's no way he can wait any longer, so he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of her tiny knickers while she pulls at his boxers and before long there's nothing left separating him from his beautiful girl.

He never could have imagined this happening when he'd sat at the bar pining for the one that got away only twelve hours ago. Perhaps he'd cut the Rabbit Hole a break when their lease came up again.

But Belle is gasping his name, and Gold doesn't need to be told twice before he's lining them up and pushing into her tight, wet, heat. He savors it for a moment, the feeling of Belle surrounding him, her inner muscles grasping at him, finally home. And then she's urging him to move, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, her tiny feet pressing into the small of his back.

They establish a steady rhythm, Gold's face buried against Belle's neck as she whispers words of love against the shell of his ear. And then it's all too much; he's quickening his thrusts, losing himself in the sensation and Belle's steady stream of encouragement. He can't let her down again, though. Wedging a hand between their bodies, he rubs at her just to the right of her clit, the place that used to always have her crying out for him, remembering how to play her body like a finely tuned instrument.

It only takes a couple of flicks of his thumb before she's gasping and shuddering beneath him, her cries of completion the final push he needs before he's coming hard along with her.

He collapses atop her, sweaty and spent. Belle is breathing hard and rubbing his back, murmuring words he can't make out. He lies there for a moment, catching his breath before he rolls to the side, spooning up behind her feeling content for the first time in months.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, the other hand traces the strap of her bra they never managed to divest her of during their coupling. That's when it hits him.

"Belle?"

"Hmm?" she answers sleepily.

"Sweetheart, your bra matches your knickers."

Belle shrugs her shoulder. "So?"

"So your bras never match your knickers. Did you come here expecting this?"

Belle rolls over to face him with a small smile. "Well, it always was the quickest way to get through to you."

Gold lets his mouth fall open at that. "You little minx! You came here to seduce me!"

Belle rolls back over, pressing her backside into his groin.

"Oh hush, Aiden. Lets take a nap."

Laughing Gold presses a kiss to her soft hair, letting the exhaustion of the morning seep in.

His last thought before sleep takes him is that he may have just found the world's best cure for a hangover.


End file.
